


The Festival

by tehta



Series: Knight School Nonsense [2]
Category: Nimona (Webcomic)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Awkwardness, Chekhov's Guns, First Date, Humor, M/M, Monsters, No Smut, Overthinking, Seriously if you want smut do not click here
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-11
Updated: 2014-10-11
Packaged: 2018-02-20 16:58:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2436137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tehta/pseuds/tehta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ballister and Ambrosius have their first date. It does not go exactly as planned.</p>
<p>(This story is a sequel to ‘Two Nights in Knight School’. For best results, start with that.)</p>
<p>And Chapter One now has <a href="http://privatepenne.tumblr.com/post/99844117362/watch-where-your-other-hand-is-going-ambrosious">an illustration</a>!</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Festival

**Author's Note:**

  * For [all the Nimona readers going through withdrawal](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=all+the+Nimona+readers+going+through+withdrawal).



Ambrosius had been right: the air in the park did smell of flowers. Indeed, every single flower-bush in the place seemed to have exploded into aggressively abundant bloom, as if competing to see which could look the most exceptionally beautiful. Even the trees appeared to be in on the contest, except that, in their case, they bore not an excess of flowers, but long strings of tiny lights and colorful pennants.

It all seemed very appropriate, Ballister decided as he neared the heroic statue that was the park's traditional meeting point. Festivals were supposed to be festive, weren't they? It was right there in the word. So, it was hardly surprising that all the little flags seemed so joyful as they leapt about in the afternoon breeze, bright in the sunlight -- though not quite as bright as a familiar head of golden hair.

“Ballister!” Ambrosius sprang away from the railing against which he had been leaning with pointed nonchalance. “You’re early.”

“Yes, a bit.” And quite deliberately so: he had been hoping to use those extra ten minutes to collect his thoughts. Well, no chance of that now, not with Ambrosius staring at him with the wide-eyed expression that always left Ballister feeling rather flustered.

"And,” said Ambrosius, "you’re wearing the shirt."

Ballister did not need to look down at himself to know that he was, indeed, wearing the shirt: the fitted red one that Ambrosius had described as 'absurdly flattering', and that Ballister had, as a result, stopped wearing around him. After all, dressing to appeal to one’s straight best friend would be pathetic, and possibly even immoral. Inappropriately seductive, anyway. Of course, now that Ballister’s world-view had been turned upside down, the red shirt was the perfect choice. Or so he hoped.

“Yes, I am,” said Ballister.

Ambrosius's gaze slid up and down the shirt. “Wow, it looks... exactly like I remembered. And now I regret that I did not get dressed up myself." He ran a hand over the gold-embroidered blue tunic that probably did, for him, count as ordinary Sunday attire. "I thought about it, a lot, and decided that-- But I am sure that you do not want to talk about clothes. How did your morning at the lab go?"

"The lab?"

"Yes, the lab. You know, where you do your experiments and things." Ambrosius made a vague gesture that was probably meant to evoke the mixing of reagents, but that bore far more resemblance to the pouring of beverages. "I want to know all about that stuff. Seriously. If I never ask, it is only because I realize that I am unlikely to understand the answer, and this is... frustrating. But I am aware that science is very important to you, so maybe if you explained things a bit more…?”

In spite of these brave words, Ambrosius’s wary, defensive expression suggested that his confidence in Ballister’s explanatory powers was less than perfect. Not that many technical explanations would have been required to describe that particular morning, since Ballister had spent it listening to Gustav make dark predictions concerning the ‘world of hurt’ Ballister was in for, now that he had made the ‘irrational and laughable’ decision to 'take an ill-fated chance' on 'that fancy bleached maniac'.

In any case, the lab was clearly not an ideal topic, at present.

“Perhaps some other time?” Ballister asked.

“If you prefer. So...” Ambrosius raised one hand, as if to touch Ballister's shoulder, then let it drop. “What would you like to do? I have been reviewing the options. The main orchestra won’t start playing for an hour, meaning that we can probably still find good seats on the lawn. Only then we would have to sit there until the concert begins, and that might be boring or even a waste of time, since there are several smaller performances happening all over the place. Like a string quartet, and bagpipes, and minstrels and suchlike. So we could visit those, and also look at the festival stalls, because, even if most are selling boringly music-related things like instruments and tuning forks and lumpy busts of composers, some are more fun, I mean there is even a banjo-and-crossbow one, and then of course there are the fireworks, which you might like to see, because I am pretty sure that there is science inside them, and--"

It had been an impressive run, but Ambrosius finally ran out of air. As he paused for breath, Ballister leapt into the breach, hoping to prevent further attempts at self-asphyxiation.

“Those all sound like good suggestions,” he said. “But what about you?”

“Me?”

”Of all the options you can think of, what would you most--”

Ambrosius’s reflexes were even more impressive than his lung capacity. Now, they caused him to turn red even before Ballister had finished saying, “want to do.”

Ballister felt his own face heat up in sympathy, but he doubted it showed enough to give comfort. He decided that the most considerate response would be to pretend that he had not noticed his friend’s embarrassment.

"What about food?” he asked.

"Well yes, there is some." Ambrosius kept looking away awkwardly, even as his colour returned to normal. "It's mostly fun things like clef-shaped churros and chocolate instruments, but the grill stations aren't bad." He met Ballister's eyes, at last. "Why, are you hungry?”

"Er, no."

“Me neither. Actually, I have not felt like eating since-- But wait, does that mean that none of my suggestions appeal to you?”

He ran a hand through his hair, a clear sign of distress.

“No, no, they all sound interesting,” said Ballister quickly."Tell me more about this banjo-and-crossbow stall you mentioned.”

"Well, I saw it on Friday, and I wanted a closer look, but Bwen-- But I did not get a chance to do so, and anyway I thought you would enjoy it, too. I know crossbows are not very sporting, almost a cheat, really, but--"

"I don't know about that. They take so long to reload, giving your opponent every chance to close the distance. And I would love to see the latest models: the May edition of 'Adventurous Engineering' described some fascinating advances in their design.”

“Great! The weird stall it is, then.” Ambrosius indicated a direction with a sweeping, courtly gesture. “But imagine," he said as they set off, side by side, "crossbows and banjos, together! Why would a merchant choose to mix them? To guarantee an income both in times of peace and of war? Or is there some sort of bulk discount on strings that is just too good to pass up?"

“You are not too far off there, I think,” said Ballister. “The Cat-Gut Guild has been controlling the string trade since they successfully lobbied for a heavy tax on all the relevant imports just under two centuries ago. Seriously, the degree of corruption in this city-- Anyway, I imagine that bribing the Guild once for both types of product works out cheaper.”

“Guilds and laws and history… Trust you to know about all that!” said Ambrosius happily and fondly, bumping Ballister's shoulder with his own.

Ballister was immediately aware that this was the first time they had touched since his arrival. But then, he was equally aware that this should not feel like such a big deal. As children, the two of them had always been rather physical: hugging, roughhousing, walking arm in arm... And, surely, there was no reason not to fall back into those old habits now? As with the shirt, it might even be appropriate.

He reached over and took Ambrosius’s elbow.

For the first few steps, he was sure he had miscalculated. Ambrosius stiffened, his steps faltering. But he followed this up by turning towards Ballister and sending him a smile so bright, and so unfocused, that it made lending him a supportive arm seem justified: he looked like someone who, if left to his own devices, was very likely to walk into a tree, or perhaps even someone who had recently done so.

But then, Ballister himself felt a bit unsteady as he felt Ambrosius’s bicep shift under his fingers. When had they last walked like this? It must have been quite a while ago, before Ambrosius had finally grown into his knightly ambitions; before Ballister realized that he wanted something different from a platonic friendship.

This memory, of their long, common past, prompted another: of the distressing story Ambrosius had shared. That Headmaster! Ballister felt his brows draw together. His treatment of a defenceless, innocent pupil had been bullying, pure and simple and utterly unfair. He knew that the Knight School was a good thing, and they were both lucky to study there, but, seriously, there were times when--

“Are you alright, Ballister?” Ambrosius was staring at him, a bit uncertainly.

“Yes. Of course.”

"Well, there's one of the performances I mentioned.” Ambrosius nodded towards a nearby bandstand. “And I quite like this song."

This was not surprising, as the song in question was a rather old-fashioned courtly ballad, performed by a group of colorful minstrels. The lyrics told the tragic story of a lady pining away for a fair knight who was off on a quest with his ‘trusty companions’.

Ballister almost said something about the knight’s lifestyle choices, but decided that it would be lost on Ambrosius, who tended to ignore both song lyrics and cynical comments.

"Is the stall itself much further?" he asked instead.

"No, just over there, in the shade." Ambrosius indicated a tall, forbidding wall--the back of an Institution building; one of the genetic labs was said to back onto the park, Ballister recalled--which sheltered a handful of shops. The one they sought was quite obvious, for it consisted of two tables, one heaped with the pleasingly geometric shapes of many banjos, and the other...

“Look!” he told Ambrosius. “They do have some of the new rotary repeater crossbows. Come on!”

As they hurried over to the table, the stallkeeper, a rather forbidding-looking woman, stood up to greet them.

“What can I do for you young… gentlemen?” she asked, her tone implying that they were anything but. Clearly, even Ambrosius’s fancy tunic had failed to make an impression.

Ballister smiled politely. “Good afternoon. I was just wondering… that crossbow over there, is that the Winchester rotary five-shot?"

“Ah, yes.” The shopkeeper’s eyebrows went up. "You have a good eye. We only just got those in.”

“Well, I read a lot. And I have read that they are a miracle of engineering. Adding a revolving bolt chamber was a giant step forward, but combining that with a gas-powered automatic cocking device… That was pure genius.”

“So, you’ll be wanting to study this miracle more closely, I suspect.” Her eyebrows went back down again, into a frown. “Well, I suppose there is no harm in it."

She retrieved the weapon in question and placed it on the counter. Ballister leaned forward for a closer look as she spun the barrel and demonstrated the motion of the string.

Unfortunately, he could not focus as completely as the situation deserved, since Ambrosius, over on his left, had shifted in the same way -- well, in almost the same way, for he had angled himself not just towards the table, but also towards Ballister, so that their bodies were touching at shoulder and hip.

The contact sent Ballister’s feelings down a very familiar path. It started with a deep-seated joy, which quickly turned into guilt over experiencing such an inappropriate reaction to an innocent friend. Then, resentment crept in: surely an innocent friend did not have to act so affectionate that it felt almost like flirtation?

Only, of course he did. Flirty affection was completely acceptable on a date; even encouraged.

Ballister held himself very still, and tried to walk back up the path, towards simple joy. Or, at least, to concentrate on the present moment, and on the shopkeeper’s explanations.

"...because," she was currently saying, with more than a hint of impatience, "the gas is pressurized."

"O--kay," said Ambrosius. "That... makes sense. But the important thing is that it solves the reloading problem we were just discussing... Right, Ballister?" Here, he elbowed Ballister lightly before giving the shopkeeper a winning smile. “Could we try it out, by any chance?”

She folded her arms. “Only if you are seriously interested in a purchase.”

“Well, we are certainly interested in owning such a fine weapon, yes." Ambrosius was starting to blush again: his inability to lie, even by implication, was a little painful to watch. Though charming, in its way.

The shopkeeper rolled her eyes. “Just as I thought. Off you go, boys. If you really fancy some shooting, there is always the archery game."

“Of course, the shooting gallery! What a great idea.” Ambrosius grabbed Ballister's arm, and pulled him away. “You know, they often have them at these festivals, and I always-- I mean, I could easily win you something."

"What, like a stuffed animal? What would I do with--" But that was not even the real problem. “Ambrosius, it is a nice thought, it really is, but I am not sure that it is right for you to compete here. After all, you have been practicing archery almost daily since you were what, ten?”

“Eleven.” Ambrosius frowned and stopped, turning towards Ballister. “But how is that unfair? I mean, all that training did take a lot of effort, especially in winter: the practice field was so cold on dark mornings before the paying students arrived. And now that I am strong enough to face foes head-on, with a proper, honourable weapon, I almost never get to use my hard-earned skill.”

“Nevertheless, you are a professional. Most of these people are civilians."

"I still don't see why--" Ambrosius shut his mouth, corners turning downwards. “But, fine. I mean, great. It doesn't matter. What shall we do, then?"

Ballister, who had been preparing for more of an argument, tried to conceal his confusion as he mentally reviewed the list of options. "Did you say the fireworks were being set up somewhere?"

"Yes. By the pond, I think." After a moment's hesitation, Ambrosius took Ballister's arm and started leading him along, in slightly petulant silence.

As they walked, still without speaking, Ballister was reminded of the time when one of Ambrosius's endless string of girlfriends had asked him, "Isn't Amby's pouting just the cutest thing?" Once he had recovered from the shock of 'Amby', he had replied that pouting was childish; at which she had, naturally, pouted. And Ballister had tried to suppress the unworthy, possessive thought that she had never seen 'Amby' at his true best, the way he looked after most training sessions: flushed, slightly mussed, and pleased with himself. Then he realized that she probably had, whenever the two of them-- But there, he had stopped himself. It was wrong to picture a friend under such circumstances.

Except that maybe now it wasn't.

"There!"

Ambrosius, now mercifully pout-free, had led them up to a metal stand that already held several rockets. A little further, a grey-bearded man in a grey robe was leaning against a table, pouring a greyish powder into a paper tube. Ballister approached him, intrigued.

"What are you making?" he asked.

The man looked up, his eyes twinkling, and set aside his pipe. "A wondrous firework of regal red and gold."

"Red and gold?" asked Ambrosius. “Wow. Very dramatic.”

“Yes, indeed,” said Ballister. "So, how are you getting the colours?”

"Magic!" The man’s eyes twinkled harder.

Was that a joke? Ballister forced a laugh. “Seriously, though, I am honestly curious. Is that strontium carbonate? It looks like it.”

The man paused in his work, and regarded Ballister piercingly, not a twinkle in sight. “A wizard never reveals his occult secrets,” he said.

"But..." Ballister hesitated as basic politeness fought a battle with scientific integrity. As usual, science won. “What occult secrets? We are discussing basic chemistry, which has clear, well-known rules. I cannot believe that you are feeding this 'magic' nonsense to impressionable young people.”

He felt the touch of a hand on his shoulder. “Ballister…” said Ambrosius. “Let’s just go.”

“No, this is important. Talk like that is exactly the sort of thing that leads children to attempt dangerous magical rituals when they could be learning science in the safety of a well-designed lab. No wonder science enrollment is--”

“Science enrollment, pah! Who do you think you are, to meddle in my affairs?” The man turned towards Ambrosius. “You seem like a sensible lad. Why don’t you take your friend somewhere quiet, where he can calm down?”

“Good idea,” said Ambrosius, before throwing his arm around Ballister’s shoulders and dragging him away with such force that resistance would have led to a scuffle. “Come on, Ballister, you are always telling me not to cause public scenes.”

It was a fair point, and yet… “Knowledge should belong to the public! That man is shrouding it in secrets and lies.”

“He’s probably protecting his-- No, you are right, he was awful.”

“Also, did you notice that pipe of his? A clear fire hazard.”

“And his robe! It was, like, a century out of style.”

Ballister considered this for a moment. “Are you humouring me?”

“I’m just trying to--” Ambrosius stopped, releasing Ballister and turning to face him. “Look, forget that old man. He’s not important. I have another idea.” He briefly looked down at the ground. When he lifted his head back up, his cheeks were flushed, and he was wearing a small, hopeful, genuine smile; another one of his particularly attractive expressions.

And, indeed, the grey charlatan did not seem so important, anymore.

“So, anyway,” Ambrosius continued, “I have been on lots of dates, and I know exactly how they are supposed to start: we are expected to hang out for a few hours, getting to know each other and relaxing. But, well, we already know each other, and as for relaxing, it does not seem to be happening, at all. So perhaps we should just... I mean, we did talk about it. So, there is this other place I want to show you. Follow me?”

“Sure.” Ballister made to reach for his arm again, but Ambrosius was already walking away, towards a cluster of weeping willows. Unlike most of the trees in the park, these were undecorated, but then they needed no ornament: their broad, green-gold canopies swept the ground with all the drama of a magnificent head of hair.

A few steps away from the trees, Ambrosius paused.

“Wait here a moment,” he said before approaching the first one and parting its branches -- but soon he was back, his face even redder than before. He did not bother to look under the second tree: they both heard the giggling from where they stood. But as for the third tree...

“In here,” Ambrosius said, drawing aside huge handfuls of branches so Ballister could step under the canopy.

Ballister did.

The branches swung back together behind them, blocking out the world outside. Suddenly, they were in a strange place that made him think of an underwater cavern, in part because of the greenish light that filtered in through the branches, and in part because breathing seemed so much harder than usual.

Ambrosius moved to stand by the tree’s trunk, one hand braced against it as if for support, his expression abnormally serious. Ballister had never seen him look like that before, just as he had never seen him look truly afraid. So was Ambrosius, perhaps, terrified? Was he ready for this? Was it even what he really wanted?

True, he had said that it was. And yes, his affection for Ballister had long been obvious and unmistakable, even to outsiders like the Headmaster. But affection was not the same as attraction, not even if, for Ballister, they felt highly correlated. And Ambrosius was so fond of dramatic make-believe. What if he was merely telling himself a story about a romance, starring the one person who loved him best?

So many questions, and Ballister had no idea how to ask any of them. He began by stepping forward, and placing his own hand on the tree-trunk, next to his friend's.

Ambrosius responded by leaning forward. His eyes went very wide, their pupils fully dilated. He looked feverish.

It felt so wrong, to want something so much, and to be given a real chance to get it. That was not how the world worked. They both knew it, really, even if Ambrosius made it so easy to pretend otherwise. Ballister tightened his fingers, digging them into the tree’s rough surface. He could not do this.

“You know,” he said, “the extract of willow-bark is very useful, as an analgesic and anti-inflammatory.”

Ambrosius blinked, and stood up straight. “For God’s sake, Ballister.”

For a few seconds, he looked comfortingly, ordinarily irritated. Then, his gaze flickered in a way familiar from the practice field, a clear tell; Ballister found himself preparing to ward off a blow.

But, of course, there was none. Instead, there were Ambrosius’s fingers at either side of his face, and Ambrosius's mouth pressing against his own.

Ballister froze. He had miscalculated: had assumed that the initiative was his alone, forgetting that Ambrosius had never seen things that way, on the battlefield or off it. With the responsibility gone, he felt lightened, liberated; unexpectedly free, even with his head trapped in place by a friend’s shaking hands. Something inside him started to melt.

But then, without any warning, Ambrosius let him go, and moved away.

Abandoned, Ballister staggered a little, as if the blow he had mistakenly expected had landed, after all. It took all his courage to look at his friend.

Who was frowning, head tilted, as if listening for something. “You can hear that too, right?” he asked.

“Hear wha--” But even as he spoke, Ballister heard it, too: the sound of distant, terrified screams. “Yes! Yes, we must--”

“Come on, then!”

Ambrosius was right: this was no time for words, or private concerns. So, Ballister grabbed his outstretched hand, and, together, they followed the first rule taught in Heroics 101:

"Run towards the screaming."

**Author's Note:**

> 0\. Thanks to Dilly and Zopyrus for beta (and for coping with my endless blathering).  
> 1\. People might have noticed that ‘Two Knights in Knight School’ already has a sequel: ‘The day After Two Knights in Knight School’, by LiveOakWithMoss, who is a very talented writer, but who apparently has no self-discipline since she gave the guys EXACTLY WHAT THEY WANTED. I am made of sterner stuff! (So, really, people should probably go read her version. It’s even set in the same park.)  
> 2\. The title is a bit bland, I know, but it is actually a tribute to Lovecraft, a fact that will be somewhat more relevant in the next chapter. (It’s the title of one of his short stories.)  
> 3\. I am sure that people are dying to know what Ballister’s absurdly flattering red shirt looks like. Well, wonder no more, people:  
> http://gingerhaze.tumblr.com/post/98925841898/non-au-knight-boyfriends-from-back-in-the-day  
> Interestingly enough, I wrote the bit about the shirt weeks before that picture came out. Make of that what you will.  
> 4\. As for the special cameo near the end, it’s not uncanonical! Just look at the crowd scene here:  
> http://gingerhaze.com/nimona/comic/nimona-chapter-6-page-17  
> 5\. I know loads of people say they welcome concrit, but I really mean it. I also welcome inspiring praise, and random fandom-related blathering.


End file.
